Groundhog Punxatawney Phil* saw his shadow yesterday. According to folklore, that’s six more weeks of winter for us. Catching a glimpse of a TV segment about the poor groundhog that those celebratory folks in that Western Pennsylvanian town unceremoniously extrapolated from his faux burrow (I mean let’s be honest. What self-respecting groundhog would live in a fake tree stump with his name on it?), I don’t think the poor guy saw much of anything yesterday. He looked bleary-eyed and a tad subdued in the gloved grip of the MC. They robbed him of his sleep, for pete’s sake. He was hi-ber-nat-ing. That’s what a lot of us do in the winter time.

And that brings me to the heart of my message today. With subzero temperatures seizing Europe this week, I am reminded of the natural rhythm of things. Winter  is a season of reflection, rest and a particular set of slow we don’t need in the summer. Our diet changes (for those of us who eat according to the seasons), our pace slows and our need for sleep increases. Being as light-sensitive as I am, I felt the need to crawl into bed at 8 p.m. whilst in Stockholm recently, because it had been dark for four hours.

Our bodies speak to us. But how often do we listen?

The cross-eyed ‘hog knew it wasn’t time to get up yet. So what if we have six more weeks of winter? It’s a good reminder that life’s pace needn’t hasten just because the clock strikes a certain hour. Time is a construct, people. Remember?

Editor’s note: For a super concise history of Groundhog Day, see TurfMutt.